Making a new Record of Giving Up
by Waffle Avenger
Summary: Ford drags Arthur on an adventure that doesn't turn out quite the way Arthur expected it to. FordArthur (or ArthurFord, if you prefer). One-shot.


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**Making a new Record of Giving Up**

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An attempt at nonfluff! Which means that there is a total lack of descriptions of fluttery feelings in people's chests when they look into each other's deep (insert color here) eyes, and no "I love you"s.

Update-ish thing: I was searching for the right word, and lo and behold, it was provided for me! Thank you StarWolf! The story has been re-posted with the right word.

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Arthur sat at the counter of one of the grossly numerous locations of the Intergalactic Café. He was bored again.

He'd asked Ford to meet him here, but perhaps, he thought, Ford had made a mistake and gone to the one two blocks down.

Just as he was thinking this, Ford walked in.

"What took you so long?"

Ford sauntered up to the counter and threw himself improbably onto the stool. "I went in the one down the street by mistake."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I had thought that might be the case."

Ford clapped Arthur incongruously on the back. He ordered a drink.

"We don't sell drinks here," said the robot behind the counter.

"Belgium," muttered Ford. The restaurant went silent. Everyone stared at the two men at the counter.

"Ford, what was that for? Now everyone's staring at us!" whispered Arthur loudly.

Ford shrugged and took a sip of the drink he supposedly couldn't get.

"Where did you get that?"

Ford grinned. "I have my ways."

Arthur shook his head. "Do you Betelgeusians live on alcohol or something? I swear, you and Zaphod both drink so much I'm surprised your livers haven't just gone on strike!"

"Oh, that's easy," replied Ford around a mouthful of alcohol. He swallowed. "We don't have livers."

"But then, how does your body get rid of toxins?"

"By refusing to believe they exist."

"Oh," said Arthur. "Well, I suppose that's sound logic."

"Have a drink, Arthur," said Ford, pushing another supposedly nonexistent drink in Arthur's direction.

Arthur, giving up, as was customary for him in Ford's presence, had a drink.

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"How have you been, Arthur?" Ford finally said, after several drinks had not come and gone.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Trying to escape from mad aliens wanting to do who knows what to me."

"Right," replied Ford. "So, d'you want to come on an adventure with me?"

"Oh, Hell, why not?" Arthur stood up.

Ford followed, and took Arthur's hand.

Arthur took a step back. "What are you doing?"

Suddenly they were on a spaceship.

"Oh," said Arthur. "We've been picked up, haven't we?"

"Yes," said Ford.

"Do you suppose there'll be tea on this ship?" Arthur asked.

"I think it's highly doubtful," said Ford.

"Oh. Well, then," said Arthur.

"Yes," said Ford.

"So, I thought this was going to be an adventure."

"It is. An adventure of grabbing a ride on a random ship and going wherever it takes us."

"Oh. How wonderful."

"Yes."

"I'm beginning to think," began Arthur, "that this was a bad idea."

"Not at all, Arthur, not at all," Ford replied, as if Arthur was thanking him.

Arthur thought that perhaps Ford hadn't heard him correctly. "I said," he began.

"I know what you said," said Ford.

"Then--"

"Yes," replied Ford, as if this were an acceptable answer.

"Indeed," sighed Arthur, giving up for the second time that day. He thought he'd try to set a new record in giving up. After all, he had a head start.

It was then that he realized that Ford hadn't let go of his hand.

"Er—Ford…"

"Yes?"

"My hand, Ford."

Ford looked up. "What about it?"

"You're holding it."

"Oh," said Ford, making no move to release Arthur's hand.

Arthur gave up. This was definitely going to be a new record.

Ford went to sit down on a crate, dragging Arthur unceremoniously behind him. Arthur thought that the best thing to do was to sit next to Ford, seeing as the other option was standing at a bent angle that would likely cause his back to cramp.

"Where are we going, Ford?"

"I don't know."

"I see."

There was silence for a bit, then: "Ford?"

"Yes?"

"You're still holding my hand."

"So I am," said Ford. "Did I ever tell you you have a habit of stating the obvious?"

"Yes, you have." Arthur checked his posture, as he often did when sitting on anything backless. "What I meant to say, I think, was, 'why are you still holding my hand?'"

"Oh," said Ford.

There was more silence, which Arthur had expected to be filled with an answer from Ford, or at the very least, some skirting of the issue.

"Well?" said Arthur, getting a little impatient.

"Well what?"

"Why are you still holding my hand, Ford?" Arthur was definitely now getting more than a little impatient.

"Oh," said Ford. "I didn't think you actually meant to ask me."

Arthur reminded himself, for the six-hundred-and-forty-third time, that Ford didn't always understand the way human conversation was supposed to progress. "Well, I meant to ask you. Why are you still holding my hand?"

"I don't know," said Ford.

"Well," ventured Arthur, "Are you planning on letting go any time soon?"

"Not as such," said Ford.

Arthur, even though he had by now gotten almost used to Ford's unusual manner of speaking, was taken aback. No matter how well you knew him, Ford could be completely baffling at times. Well, most of the time.

"What?" said Arthur.

"I hadn't really thought about it, no," said Ford. "And anyway, I think I've decided I rather like it."

"What, my hand?" Arthur looked worried. "You're not planning on keeping it, are you? Because I may still need it at some point."

Ford shrugged and said nothing.

After several minutes of silence in which Arthur pondered exactly why he had agreed to this, he found that his hand was free at last.

Arthur found he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this development. This realization had the effect of confusing him even further.

He looked over at Ford, who was scratching his nose. So that was why he'd moved his hand.

Arthur shrugged and went back to counting the tiles in the ceiling. It didn't take him very long, as the ceiling was made of one unbroken sheet of metal.

After losing a short staring contest with the ceiling, Arthur felt something on his shoulder. He looked at it and discovered that the something was Ford's hand. Ford was looking at him patiently.

"Yes, Ford?"

Ford continued to look at him without speaking. Arthur looked into the eyes of his only living friend. "Was there something you wanted, Ford?"

"Yes," said Ford.

Arthur waited.

"What was it?" he said, finally, after several unnerving moments of staring silently into the electric-blue eyes in front of him.

Ford, his left hand still on Arthur's shoulder, suddenly grabbed Arthur's ear with his right hand, pulling him into a rough kiss.

After a few seconds of confused blinking and trying to move his lips somewhere other than in the direction of Ford's, Arthur gave up. This certainly broke his record, he thought as he placed a hand on Ford's back, closing his eyes and letting his friend kiss him. Anyway, he decided, he rather liked it.

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End file.
